


The Return of the 1980 Miracle on Ice

by KitariAuthor



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Hockey, america v. canada, don't worry they get along, it's kinda violent, nice family get togethers, so i don't wanna say it's a fluff, technically the G8 plus china
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 02:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17931530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitariAuthor/pseuds/KitariAuthor
Summary: Russia watches the two take up their hockey sticks. Five counts. Hit. He knows what's about to go down.America v. Canada in ice hockey! The two are having a nice brotherly bonding time over a 'perfectly civil' game of hockey.





	The Return of the 1980 Miracle on Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, first of all, I know next to nothing about hockey and all I do know is from the Hetalian fanfics I've read. This was just a little something that I wrote that just randomly came to mind.

"Yo, Canada, bro!" America called from the other side of the board room table, "Wanna play a game of catch with me?"

"A-America," Canada sighed, "I don't know if you've noticed, but I am terrible at playing catch. I...I just can't do it!"

"Aw, man, m'dude," Canada's southern twin sighed, "I mean, I kinda was wondering when you were gonna get good at the game, but you never seem to work on getting better!" he shook his head, "You're basically asking to get hurt!"

"B-But I don't like catch!" Canada whimpered, "Can't we play something I want to play?"

"Hm?" America quirked a brow at the suggestion, "Like what, broski?"

Everyone in the room silently watched as Canada turned and faced America. The look on his face was eager and competitive. Scarily competitive, "Hockey."

America waved it off, "Pssh, hockey? Why do you wanna play a game like that?" he was oblivious to the scared looks around the room. This was the only time nations actually remembered Canada. He was terrifying on the rink with a hockey stick in hand.

"Can't we just try?" Canada coaxed, "Just one game! One game!"

Many nations knew that tone. Sweet in the beginning, merciless during the game.

America's face scrunched up in thought. After giving it a moment of consideration, he asks, "We play in teams or is this a 1v.1?" 

"Just you and me!" the sweet Canadian smiled.

However, his twin wasn't looking as cheery as he usually was. Maybe the American idiot could actually read the atmosphere. It was kind of odd, considering that he did lose to Canada recently, but he took the lost gracefully with a smile on his face and a victory party just for his little bro. Why was he cautious now? "...You sure about this?"

Canada huffed in confusion, "Why, of course! Why would I ever turn down a nice, friendly game of hockey?"

America stared at him, "Hm," he thought for another moment, "No demoralization for body checking or more violent injuries?"

The American didn't hear the stressed sounds of 'You stupid American! Do you want to die?' in the background.

His younger brother beamed, "Of course, not!"

Finally, a smile warmed up on America's face. It came on slow and languid, but amused and sportsmanlike. Crossing his arms in approval, he switched back to his normal, heroic grin, "Okay! No holding back?"

Everyone groaned in the background. Some were praying for his life, others muttering that he had it coming.

Canada's face shadowed over, his smile still apparent on his face, "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it."

~~~~~

Canada invited his brother to the Ottawa ice rink. Many other nations from the meeting, including others that they've invited, sat in the bleachers behind a safe wall of one-inch thick glass. England and Russia sat in as referees for the match. England knew the two well and Russia has a good hand in for hockey. However, the Russian couldn't help but feel something unsettling coming from one of the twins, but he couldn't pin down who.

Finally, the two North American twins skated out into the rink, each of them wearing their respected national symbols and colors on their gear. By closer inspection, they could see that their hockey sticks were customized. Personal ones.

Russia's breath got caught in his throat. The hockey sticks. That hockey stick. Oh, he remembers that one. He remembers it well. His glory days of hockey were pucked away by that particular stick. He looked so innocent, so incapable of harm. Oh, what a fool he was to fall for that facade. His other brother, he expected more of a fight from. But, oh, no, he turned into an entirely different person when that certain stick was in his hand.

"Hm, I didn't see you use that hockey stick during the last tournament," America chuckled.

Canada's smile was starting to widen, "Same to you! I haven't seen your personal since the Cold War."

"Ooh, low one, there. Russia's referring," the American grinned smartly.

As they pace around the rink, Russia headed over and set the hockey puck in the center. Backing away, America and Canada set the heads of their hockey sticks on either side of the puck, parallel to the other.

"Five counts," the Canadian whispered, "Then whoever hits first."

"Deal," America's smirk was gone. Canada did not expect that.

If he was going to be serious about it, that was okay with Canada. He's always wanted to get into a decent fight of vent on his older brother. Maybe he'll give it to him.

The two shouted simultaneously.

"One!"

"Two!"

"Three!"

"Four!"

"Five!"

Both sticks swung for the puck.

~~~~~

The nations watched on, listening to the commentary of England and Russia, mostly from Russia. Many were quite impressed to see America keep up with Canada...somewhat. America was getting more and more injured than Canada but refused to voice his complaints and pains. there was no trash-talking to be heard from the older twin. England swears that he saw blood coming out of America's mouth.

So far, it was 0:5, America to Canada. The American wasn't doing too hot.

Canada, on the other hand, looked like he was a bloodthirsty monster, ready to tear America and the ice apart with his toe-picks and hockey stick. He body checked and schooled America so many times, it was a wonder that he didn't collapse to the floor in a blackout. England knew that America was too stubborn to lose. There will come a time when one of them was going to go inside that rink to stop Canada and save America from his stupid demise.

After all that damage, America finally tripped and fell onto the ice, sliding toward the wall. He didn't immediately get back up. 

Everyone watched Canada languidly skate up to his fallen brother in a stroll, twirling his hockey stick in one hand. He had a victorious grin on his face, "Up for another round, Alfred?"

His head slowly lifted up, America's fierce, cerulean eyes coming up to meet his brother's violet flames, "I'm getting the next point."

Russia froze in his chair.

"Oh, really?" Canada laughed, "Good luck to you, then!"

"Thanks," America stood up, wiping the blood from his chin, "I'll need it."

Another five counts and the round was on. Canada came on hard and fast. Once he had the puck, it was like no one could take it from him until he shot it into the goal to get it to reset. However, there was only two of them. 

America had managed to snag the puck while he got body checked. 

Canada hadn't even realized he had lost the puck until America made a hurried swerve toward Canada's unguarded goal and swatted it in for a score.

1:5

No way.

The Canadian slowly turned to face America. There was a deadly glare darkening his features. A dark aura radiated out of him like Russia. Except he was a crimson red.

"Nice shot," Canada murmured lowly.

"Why, thank you," America didn't whoop in the victory. He could now see it in his brother's eyes. Canada can now feel it.

America was getting serious.

"Funny of you to think," Canada's smile was starting to resemble Russia's when you ticked him off, "That you can mock me in my own rink. My own game."

"I never mocked you," America sounded hurt, "I value my life."

People within the crowd grumbled that if he really did, he wouldn't have let Canada challenge him to a hockey match, to begin with.

The younger twin huffed, "The minute you didn't start out serious," he slammed his hockey stick to the ground. The reverb didn't shatter the ice, but there was a big, fat crack in the glass barrier in front of France, "Is the minute I kill you."

"K-Kill me?" America shuddered, "Dude, you want me to be serious? I'll break the rink."

"Oh, please, you won't hurt anybody," Canada challenged.

Everyone watched in awe and horror as the American's expression darkened to the challenge, "I'm better than you think I am."

"Really?" his brother laughed, "An amateur like you?"

America raised the head of his hockey stick, pointing towards Canada like a one-handed gun, "I'm getting the next point."

And that's when the two got serious.

From the audience, the nations were starting to smell the icy bite and burning rubber. If they squint, they could've probably seen the little electric sparks fly from their blades bolting across the ice. They looked like they were warring with each other. Even though America had been hurt for the first ruthless five points to the Canadian, Canada was finally getting some damage by his stronger brother. Cracks now spider-webbed from the walls and the glass. It was a miracle that the ice didn't catch on fire.

As England was shakily doing the commentary, Russia gazed in a worried stare upon the battle in front of them. America was keeping up with Canada. No one expected this to happen.

Not unless they were stupid, Russia thought.

Back in the day, during the year 1978, in the Winter Olympics, America won the gold medal for in ice hockey, his younger brother, Canada, getting silver, and Russia, currently known as the Soviet Union, getting bronze. Now, 12 years later, in the year 1980, the Soviet Union was known to be the strongest and the best in ice hockey. No one could compete. No one could compare. It was nothing but gold all the way.

That was until America came in with his seemingly rookie-filled hockey team and pulverized the Soviet Union team. To top it all off, America beat Finland, winning the gold. This put Finland with the silver and Sweden with the bronze. The Soviet Union didn't even place.

And time went on and everyone just disregarded America's seemingly nonexistent hockey ability. Until now.

"8:7...!" England announced nervously. America had just passed him and Canada looked livid.

America and Canada had blood running down their faces. Their helmets were cracked and they lost a protective pad here and there. However, their hockey sticks remained intact, despite getting the most damage besides their own bodies.

Russia knew that he was going to cause a war once he announced this but this madness needed to end, "Matchpoint at 10-point!"

The fighting got worse.

~~~~~

A couple of the nations had left in fear of the raging brothers. Others had stayed, cheering for either Canada or America. Canada may not have looked like it, but he was secretly enjoying this match. America had never shown any interest in the hockey sport, thus the Canadian thought he didn't care. But, to him, this felt like a nice bonding session with brothers. Canada suddenly wondered if America didn't play with him because he'd be able to keep up and possibly beat him. Like he actually respected that this was a sport that Canada would want to stay the king of.

But he wouldn't be a real king of hockey if he didn't challenge the top.

And America was very close to being that top.

"Score to Canada! 9:9!" England called out, "Matchpoint!"

Matchpoint. Last point.

Canada and America were grinning a shark's grin. The final round was in play and both of them had gotten so close to the other's goals only for the other brother to tactfully shoot it away.

"This round is longer than the others, aru," China gulped.

"They really look like they're serious," Germany nodded. Italy was holding onto Germany's arm for dear life, looking dizzy from watching the puck being a blur across the ice. It wouldn't surprise him if the puck wasn't even on the ground.

"This is a passionate battle, indeed," France cringed away from all the harsh fighting since he knew inside that the glass barrier would not protect them.

And, yes, this one was, indeed, longer. The puck wasn't even in its original form on closer inspection. Between the roars of battle, America heard Canada give a whoop on the other side of the rink.

"I didn't know you were so good at hockey, America!" he laughed, hitting the puck at an impossible speed.

America was able to save it, anyway. He skillfully maneuvered away, narrowly missing a body check, "I try my best, bro!"

The two laughed maniacally. If it didn't look like a spartan war, the two looked like they were really enjoying themselves. Like they've finally found something between their kindred spirits and brother-boding. Even if they did look like they were fighting to the death.

However, America's glare darkened to black. With a roar of a demonic warlord, he launched the puck with a mighty swing of his hockey stick, dead center into Canada's goal. Not only that, but it burned through the ropes and chucked straight into the glass. It narrowly missed France's head, to which he faints. It felt a melted hole, into the melted, plastic chair, by a half-melted hockey puck.

There were no words. Everyone was sitting on the edge of their chairs (or plastering their backs to the chair if they were near the meteorite of a hockey puck). Then, from the speakers, they heard a resigned voice announce, "10:9, victory to America. Congratulations."

America had fallen to his knees, noisily wheezing and panting. The pain from the gain coming at him slowly as the adrenaline left his body. He wasn't used to fighting his hardest in hockey. It wasn't a sport he championed but he still had a history with it. It felt exhilarating, to say the least. It was refreshing to play again and with someone who he knew could keep up with him. Or maybe it was more on the fact that he could keep up with Canada.

He heard the scraping sound of blades lazily sauntering up on the ice behind him, smoothly circling around in front of his exhausted, slumped self. It was Canada. He kneeled down, facing his violet eyes to his victorious brother, who wasn't hollering in his winnings like he would for any other sport.

Canada looked fine, despite his many injuries, "Good game," he said in his soft voice. A shy smile gracing his lips. Canada was back to normal.

Slowly, the American lifted his tired and heavy head to meet his brother's gaze. His cerulean blue eyes were fogged over and dazed. A weak smile graced his lips and he gave a hoarse chuckle, "Yeah...good game."

~~~~~

It's about a month and a couple world meetings later and their current conference had finally come to a close. 

"Man, that one was so boring," America groaned, stretching out like a cat.

"Do you have anything to do after the meeting?" Canada whispered softly like he always does. Just nice brotherly conversation is all. Around the room, people were chatting amongst each other a light banter.

"Eh," America sighed, remembering all that paperwork he finished last night, despite everyone's claims that he does video games all the time. Seriously, he a was nation just like they were. He wouldn't be as powerful and Canada wouldn't be as big as they were now. 

Canada recognized that work stress, "You want to vent out a little?"

"Whatdya, mean?" America stood up, tiredly slinging his computer bag over his shoulder.

"Oh, I don't know," Canada glanced away, "You wanna play a game of hockey?"

Canada paid for the damage done to the rink.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo...how did I do? Tell me your thoughts.


End file.
